


Fatal Fealty (Michael Langdon x Reader)

by SilentWanderlust



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Apocalypse
Genre: AHS spoilers, Angst, Blood, Dehydration, F/M, Fluff, Gore, Looking for a little chat with daddy dearest, Romance, ahs apocalypse spoilers, hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-29 17:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16747978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentWanderlust/pseuds/SilentWanderlust
Summary: When Michael careens into the forest for an audience with his father, you follow.  Four days and nights of deprivation waste you away as Michael holds true to his promise he’d die in the circle before leaving without the answers he covets.





	Fatal Fealty (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Michael stumbled like a newborn fawn experimenting with the weight of gravity on fragile legs. His ascot swung with the weighted accuracy of a thurible while his arms hung low. He barely kept his balance as you struggled to follow his long strides.

“Michael!” You slipped on a collection of damp leaves. Knee overextending, you hissed, throwing your hands wide to stay upright. Stepping over the squiggling root in your path, you called to him again, urging him to stop.

Michael ignored your plea with a dismissive hand behind his back.

His button up shifted down his shoulder, torn at the collar where he’d tugged the seams until they burst. With a growl, he smacked the trunk of a tree. Pollen and crinkling leaves rustled in the air as they latching on his hair and the soiled fabric of his shirt.

It was enough pause for you to catch up. Grabbing his shoulder, you heaved to collect your breath.

“There’s nothing out here.” You pulled dirt from his wild hair which replenished as he leaned his forehead into the trunk. Strips of wood tore and embedded in his skin. Splinters poked from his temples like budding horns.

“Not yet,” Michael toppled back from your hold. Tripping over a fallen log, he stepped around and began his near run again.

“What does that mean?” You ran. Leaves and dirt bounced with your footfall like you leap into them on a trampoline. Coughing at the debris filling your lungs, you wriggled your nose as the scent slipped from throat to sinus. The smell of wet, dislodged earth.

Birds flapped from trees in a symphony of caws and tweets; calling their displeasure at the disturbance. Underbrush moved on either side of you like a rippling stream. Small creatures fled, lizards and deer alike, sensing the coming storm. A hurricane in the form of a man.

Michael skidded to a stop in an open patch where no trees grew. The dregs of flowers lay dying below the brush, replaced with prickly pine cones; a meadow overrun with parasitic foliage. The space hung at the end of a cliff littered with fallen trees and unknown vegetation. One slip and you’d plummet from the edge.  

Hunching over, Michael spread the brush, digging into the earth. A moment of searching yielded an arrowhead shaped rock, pointed enough to cut skin. Dirt painted the underside of nails and stained his cuticles.

“Michael, stop!” You yelled into the silent abyss. The only sound in the forest was the slamming of your heart against your chest and Michael’s breath overwrought with exertion.  

Michael did as you demanded. The hand holding the rock aloft fell to his side. He flicked his fingers, calling you forward.

Padding forward on the balls of your feet, you approached slowly. Michael twirled the rock in his fingers as you came closer. The antsy movement reflected in his throbbing pulse and wobbling legs.

“Tell me,” You locked your fingers in his free hand.

“I need to talk with him,” Michael dug his nails into your palm and you bit away the searing pain. Blood ran through the divots in your hand like churning lava released from a mountain. “I need to understand.”

Red rimmed his eyes like a vicious burn. It extended from the purple veins of his skin to the blue veins protruding from his iris. Skin constricting, Michael scrunched his nose allowing dirt to settle in his pores.

The sun hung high but darkness drowned the clearing. A darkness of the soul dragging you down like he’d attached you to a falling anchor.

Opening your mouth to speak, Michael silenced you with his lips, collecting the words you meant to convey. He tasted of overturned mulch and smelled of the sickly sweet tang of citrus. The rock in his hold pressed to your back as he urged you against his chest. Hands pressed open on your back, he stepped down with you.

You gasped in surprise as Michael set you down with him. It was a careful movement. He wiped the leaves away from under you before placing you on the ground.  

The forest floor was chilly with the remnants of rain and the residual droplets of water slipped through your jeans. Michael kneeled before you and dragged a finger from the base of your throat to the tip of your chin. Kissing you again, he pulled away enough to drag his nose over yours to move and meet the other side of your lips. Dirt from his cheeks sprinkled your lashes and caught the sides of your mouth with his kiss.

Michael hovered over you, watching your reaction. Craning your neck back to reach him again, you grazed your lips against his. His eyes fluttered shut. He tilted his head against your temple, his hair tangling with yours in a mess of dirt and sweat.

“Do what has to be done,” You braced one hand behind you and wrapped the other over his neck. The blood on your hands slicked his neck, leaving uneven lines of grotesque fingerprints. “I’ll stay with you.”

Michael nodded. Settling his hands at the crown of your head, he slipped them down your hair to your neck. “Thank you.”

He kissed your forehead and stood. Wiping the dirt from his slacks, he cracked his neck and stalked to the center of the clearing. Tossing the rock up and capturing it in his fist, he spun in a slow circle. His shoes created an uneven oval in the sand at his feet.

You pushed up on weak elbows to help you stand and move away from Michael as he worked. It was a reasonable intuition. The moment you retreated to the tree line, Michael bent over, stumbling as he drew on over sized circle in the ground. A cloud of dust followed him like a shadow as he worked.

“I’m not going any further.” Michael spoke conversationally, as if somebody stood in the circle with him. You knew he did not speak to you. “Father, tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

He gazed over the trees, up to the sky and back down to the ground, searching for whatever voice or malevolent entity he expected in return.

“I’m not leaving this circle until you talk to me,” Michael said, his voice rigid in need of respite.

Next came the uneven lines in the shape of star. You swallowed and sank against a stump, offering him as much space as possible.

“They’re gone,” Michael panted. “The warlocks, my Ms. Mead. _Burned alive_ at the stake by the witches until nothing was left but ash and dust.”

The strain of working and speaking simultaneously reflected in the grainy lilt of his voice. The pain of losing Ms. Mead ripping from heart to lips as he reached out for his father. Exhaustion from the weeks of pain and turmoil condensed in a plea to a person he’d never met. A plea for relief.

“You tell me what to do,” Michael's knees buckled like he’d been kicked from behind. He heaved the rock from the circle and fell to the ground in the center of the star. “or you let me die here.”

“Michael,” You hissed at his brazen declaration. If he heard, he ignored you. But the glaze in his eyes and the focus in his words relayed he was somewhere beyond the dusty clearing.

* * *

Michael hadn’t moved when the sun cleared the hill the first night. Whatever sign he desired had not materialized.

Prickles of disuse cut your ankles and calves. You rolled your ankles to circulate the blood but the shift flared the tingling and it skimmed up your hamstring.

You stood to let your body adjust. Anything to get your mind off Michael in the circle alone.

Cold permeated the clearing. With no tree cover, the wind moved with its full ferocity. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you looked up to the stars. Innumerable and effervescent, you smiled at the familiar site. Rocking on your heels, you relaxed your breathing, listening to the forest. Content with the nature around you.   

Static prickled your neck. The sounds of the night you expected from the forest hadn’t risen. No cicadas chirped or owls cooed. Silent and unserene, this night was neither yours nor the woodland creatures hiding in dark places.

Michael owned this night like he was the sun and the world was the planets circling. His supremacy over the darkness was unmistakable and cut your skin like a knife.

Michael’s pale hair shone in the dim moonlight. Flecks of grime dotted his head like a miniature chess board, black and white at odds. While you felt the pain of your immobility, Michael showed no sign of exhaustion. Only a determination visible in the rolling tension of his shoulders.

Clearing your throat, you tugged your tongue to create saliva to soothe the burning. The dryness of your mouth caught your tongue, holding it in place instead of reliving your ache for water.

Fearing breaking Michael's focus, you dared not ask if the dry air plagued him too.

* * *

The third night brought a crushing avalanche of discomfort. You lay on your side, your arm splayed out as a makeshift pillow. The crippling sting of hunger ripped your stomach to pieces. Hacking, you leaned over to expel what little remained in your stomach. Your throat spasmed as your mind convinced your body vomiting was the answer to your predicament.

Nose burning with the strain of heaving, you rolled on your back and stretched the ache away. You locked your hands and pushed them over your head, tugging your torso. Breathing pains hitched your side and you curled in on yourself, feeling the threat of discomfort with every minuscule breath.

Michael remained hunched on his knees. If it weren’t for the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders, you would have sworn he’d stopped breathing entirely.

* * *

Michael’s hallucinations began the fourth day. You woke to his mumbling voice. Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you focused on Michael in the circle. He doubled in your vision.

The world split like an embryo. Two mirrors images formed beside each other. The vertigo from the shift nauseated you again. Flipping over, you retched the emptiness from your stomach. A mix of blood and sizzling bile. It crackled against the dirt.

The leafs were spread wide from days of fidgeting, emptying space between your body and the chilly soil. Like a grotesque snow angel from branches and leafs.

“I have to talk to my Father,” Michael said in earnest to a log along his line of site. It was the first thing he’d spoken in days and his voice cracked with disuse and dehydration.

“You’re not real,” Michael looked around the clearing. “None of this is real.”

“Michael,” You pushed your weight against the stump and slid in place like you moved within a dream, unable to reach your goal, never making progress towards an end. Expanding your arms, you shook away the double-vision and lunged for the stump. Endless air met your grasp as you fell. Your forehead cracked on the ground and you groaned. Muscles hollering and bones grinding, you flipped on your back.

The mid-morning sun dotted the clearing like spikes on a cactus; prominent and equally as painful. The uneven light glowing like Christmas lights in your skewed vision reignited the waves of nausea. Head pounding, you tossed your arm over your eyes.

“No, I failed. I’m lost,” Michael pleaded. “I don’t understand my purpose.”

His voice struck you like a spear in the chest. His fervent desperation crinkled your soul. Flopping on your stomach, you dragged your knees in to yourself. Arms shaking, you stood, walking one foot after the other.

The clearing spun like the earth knocked off its axis. You slammed your knee into the stump and felt a jolt of focus at the onset of pain.

“Are you my Father?” Michael’s gentle voice sounded like child speaking to a parent.

You spun to see a live goat bleating in the circle with Michael. They mimicked one another; the goat and Michael. Images in black crowned in gold.

Michael slinked forward like a cat, gaining on the goat. The mania in his eyes stalled you momentarily. The vicious cut of his gaze was directed towards the goat but the impact of the revulsion hit you too.

Wobbling, you stepped forward, mouthing his name. Trying to speak, the words caught in your lungs with a fit of coughing.

Michael pulled a dagger from his side, holding it over his head before slamming it down in the goat. Over and over he hacked like an embroidery machine. With a frustrated scream, Michael tossed the knife away and wrenched the goat’s horns from its temple. Blood splattered his face and he blinked at the warmth seeping into his eyes.

Michael shook. With each movement, his mouth fell farther open.

Stepping towards the circle, you held your arms out; half to balance yourself and half to show you desire to approach peacefully. But your wish was shattered when a rhumba of snakes flopped from the severed goat’s neck. They hit the ground with a crunch and slithered between you and Michael. Their heads remained high in the air as they moved, like they watched you with beady eyes.

“What do you want from me?” Michael hollered to the clouds. “What the fuck am I supposed to do.”

“Michael,” Your gravely voice sounded akin to the grind of the leaves by the snakes.

Tears dripped over his nose at he looked to you. Moments passed with no connection until something snapped and light reached his eyes in a flash of recognition.

“Y/N,” Michael fell forward reaching an arm towards you. “You’re here.”

“Of course I am,” You ran to him but lost your burst of energy when you entered the circle. A wave of exhaustion hit you like lightning struck your heart. Sidestepping the twitching goat, you dropped to your knees as he’d done days before. Pools of blood splashed your pants, slicking them in warmth.

Joints fatigued, you clawed your hand to reach for Michael's shoulder. He allowed the minimal contact so you threw yourself around him like a sash. While your muscles were watery with exhaustion, Michael’s were painfully tense.

“How long?” Michael gasped, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you farther onto his lap.

“Four days,” You rested you head on his shoulder, wiping streaks of blood from his neck. “I think.”

“Hmm,” Michael lifted you with him as he stood. You hung limp in his arms as he stepped over the goat. “I still don’t have my answer.” It was quiet, whispered behind bared teeth.

You swung your legs as he walked, locking your hands behind his neck to hold you in place.

When you started over his shoulder at the circle, the goat and the mess Michael created were gone as if nothing had disquieted the clearing.

“Let’s just walk for a while,” You hung your chin over his shoulder. Fixated on the immaculate patch of forest behind you. “Clear our heads.”

* * *

You walked with your fingers clasped in Michael's. The growling in your stomach dissipated in favor of a sting so deep it pricked your back.

The city buzzed with energy, conflicting with you and Michael wasting away. The double vision struck again, sending you stumbling off the curb. Michael caught you before your legs slipped into a drainage slot.

“Careful,” he pulled you to his chest. “I can’t go losing you now.”

“The curb moved,” You rubbed your sleep-burned eyes. Clearly you’d missed precious hours of rest sleeping on pine cones and leaves.

“If I didn’t know better I’d say you were stumbling drun-,” Michael’s words petered off and his focus shifted to a strange marking at an alley entrance.  

Michael’s fingers tickled your side as they slipped from your side. He careened towards the wall, locked on the symbol.

“What’s this?” You stepped to his side, tracing the inverted cross with a delicate touch.

“What I’ve been waiting for,” Michael grabbed you and ran.


End file.
